Tell Me
by viper209n
Summary: Post-series. Sandy wakes up to a question from his wife.


Kirsten sighed.

As a mother, it was her job to worry. But three nights of tossing and turning was ridiculous.

Sandy was asleep beside her, an arm slung over her hip. She carefully slid around it, trying not to wake him. She sat up in their bed and studied the dark room.

It wasn't long before her husband adjusted to her new position and snuggled up next to her. Arm still holding her, his nose pressed to her shoulder. He spent a few minutes there before he stirred himself awake.

"Baby, are you alright?" He whispered into the dark.

"Yeah," she lied. "It's nothing."

"Oh, yeah, what kind of nothing has you up at…" He craned his neck to check the alarm clock. "3:30 in the morning?"

Sandy had woken to a sleepless Kirsten before. When he did, she was either too sick or thinking too hard to fall asleep. He'd noticed she seemed a bit preoccupied, always confirming that she was 'fine' whenever he questioned her.

He watched through the dark as she continued to hesitate.

Sandy rubbed her arm softly. "Baby…?"

"When you look at me, do you see an alcoholic?"

"What?"

Her question confirmed Sandy's suspicion; Kirsten was thinking herself sick. However, he had no idea her mind was doing circles like these.

"What in the world would make you ask that?" He asked, his voice defensive and shocked. "No. Never."

Her eyes wouldn't meet his. Knowing neither of them would be asleep any time soon, Sandy turned to his nightstand and flicked on the light.

When he turned back to his wife, her blue eyes shone with tears. His soft whispers of 'baby' and 'please' only returned a sniffle from her which sent the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Kirsten," he called, pleading. A hand framed her jaw line and carefully held her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

"When I look at you…" He paused, her emotions becoming his own. He waited until he trusted his voice again. "When I look at you, I see my best friend, my lover, the mother of my children. I look at you and I see the person I've been sleeping next to for nearly 30 years."

She blushed at his words and looked away the best she could. Sandy's hand floated away from her face, not wanting her to be uncomfortable. His warm hand grabbed hers tightly, loving how they fit together.

"The person who steals the covers, kicks me in her sleep then apologizes and wants to be held tighter. I see the eighteen year old girl in a sweater vest who stole my heart and never gave it back. I see the artist who painted our daughter's nursery with giant butterflies and said it was nothing. I see the woman who, despite being California born and bred, enjoys a cool shower on occasion for purely innocent reasons."

Kirsten giggled through new tears and Sandy smiled.

"I see the woman whose grip nearly broke my hand while she gave birth to two amazing children. I see the woman who became a mother to a stranger, all because her self-righteous husband asked her to give the boy a chance."

She bit her lip at the mention of her middle child. Her free hand wiped over her cheeks, muddling the tracks of her tears. Her other hand gently squeezed Sandy's as she looked into his eyes again.

"Kirsten, when I look at you, I see my world: past, present, and future. Alcohol may be a part of you but it doesn't define you. It never has. Not even when you were in rehab."

"I just don't want to be your alcoholic wife. Or their alcoholic mother."

Her words hit Sandy with realization.

"Is this about Sophie?" He asked softly.

Kirsten didn't answer him immediately as she fought to swallow the lump in her throat.

"How-" she choked. "How do I explain this to her?"

"Has she said something about it?"

"No," Kirsten admitted. "But it's only a matter of time."

"So this is a pre-emptive strike, then?" He asked but, upon the look he received, amended, "We'll just be honest with her like we've always been with her and the boys."

"I just—" She choked on her words again. She hated how insecure she sounded. "When it happened, I never imagined I'd have to explain it to… to my daughter."

"Kirsten, Sophie worships you. She-"

"Exactly!" Kirsten interrupted. "Until I have to tell her about the worst thing I've ever done, what I put her father and her brothers through. How will she feel then?"

"Okay, maybe 'worship' was the wrong word. She adores you. But, baby, she knows you're human. I mean, you're not exactly her favorite person when you discipline her but she comes back around eventually."

"This is hardly popping her on the hand, Sandy," she snapped, angry that he wasn't taking this as seriously as she was.

He paused, letting her words hang in the air. The silence emphasized the snap in her voice.

"I know that, Kirsten," he finally answered. "I just feel like you are over-thinking this. It won't matter to her as much as you are afraid it will."

"How can you be so sure?"

Sandy sighed. "Honestly?" He asked gently. "Because she wasn't there. It won't affect her like it did the boys. They experienced it." Sandy saw the pain in Kirsten's eyes and hated it. But he kept going. "You can tell her that you had an addiction to alcohol-"

"Have," she corrected.

He sighed again. "Kirsten…"

"Sandy." They had fought over the grammar of the situation plenty of times before.

Despite his attempts to hide it, Sandy rolled his eyes. "Fine, but in the spirit of not confusing her, you can get away with the past tense when you tell our seven year old about it."

Kirsten didn't argue any more so Sandy continued.

"You can tell her about the addiction. And I'll tell her how you beat it. How you loved your family and yourself enough to go to rehab and fix the problem. That you're strong and brave enough to face your issues head-on."

"Wow. To hear _you_ tell it-"

"That is how it happened." His firm voice interrupted her. "That's how I see you. If you think I see an alcoholic when I look at you, a weak, insecure, out-of-control version of my wife, I don't. I see a survivor, a woman who fights for herself and the people she loves."

Kirsten saw the fire in Sandy's eyes and the pounding in his chest as he spoke. His voice left no room for contradiction and she knew he was no longer listing her attributes to reassure her. He was giving his closing argument and it was obvious he was going to win.

Kirsten was about to concede when Sandy suddenly threw back the covers.

"C'mon," he said as he swung his legs out of bed.

"What-? Where are we going?" She asked, grabbing her robe and following despite none of her questions being answered.

He entered the kitchen and immediately opened the fridge. He retrieved five bottles of beer and placed them near the sink. After he opened the cabinet, a bottle of wine joined the beer.

Kirsten read his mind.

"No, Sandy. C'mon. This is yours. For when Paul or the boys come over."

"But if it's going to tempt you-"

"It doesn't. We wouldn't keep it in the house if it did."

"Exactly, Kirsten. I wouldn't bring this stuff home if I thought…" His voice trailed off, refusing to even say the words.

Kirsten smiled at her husband. He had her and she loved him for it. Nearly thirty years together and she still marveled at his ability to calm her down.

He moved to her, placing his hands on her waist. She moved her hands to his chest, feeling it swell at her touch.

"You're brave and you're strong," he whispered in the voice he only used with her. "It's going to be hard to tell Sophie. But have faith in her. She's a pretty great kid, you know."

"Mmhm," she murmured. "I wonder who she gets that from," she teased before kissing him.


End file.
